


The Art of Violence

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Caught in the Act, Frottage, Gore, Hand Jobs, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Violence, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The heat of battle finds Heavy and Medic defending against an approaching payload cart, mowing down the opposition with practiced ease.  A desperate Scout tries to intervene, and Medic’s aptitude for murder seems to do things to Heavy.<br/>(Any depictions of gore or violence are kept in a combat context, and are not part of the sexual content of this fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Violence

“I am coming for you!” Heavy crowed, rounding the corner. Medic trotted along at his heels, medigun overhealing him with its warm, red beam.

The payload cart slowed, the BLU Soldier and Pyro running to meet Heavy, to take him out before he could cause too much damage. As Pyro loosed a gout of flame, the giant lit up with red electricity, a metallic sheen overtaking his flesh, his eyes glowing yellow. Medic had hit the ubercharge. Flames licked at the Russian uselessly, much to the pyromaniac's horror. A rocket slammed into Heavy's chest, halting his approach but doing little else. Soldier tilted his helmet back to see the pair grinning at them, Sascha's spinning barrels a blur of motion.

Heavy loosed his own payload, spraying both BLUs with a hail of bullets. The miniscule distance between them, coupled with their failed assault, left little room to miss. Lead shredded through rubber and asbestos, metal and fabric, flesh and bone. The spray of gore was a thing of beauty to Medic's eyes, a raw, messy demonstration of Heavy's power. A fine, red mist erupted into the air as wet chunks of meat were blasted into the dirt, painting the desert floor a bright crimson splatter. Splinters of bone and shreds of organs joined the carnage, leaving little in its wake but a wobbling, chunky mass where two men had once stood. Their equipment filled with holes and dents clattered to the ground, haphazard headstones to mark their passing, barely rolling to a stop before blinking away to respawn in a flash of blue light. Behind the giant, the doctor's giddy laughter carried through the hot, dry air, the horrific display a masterpiece, an achievement in the art of violence.

When the ubercharge wore off, both men came down from their high, only to notice the cart still moving, albeit slower.

Behind the payload, the BLU Scout crouched, horrified by what little he had managed to see of his teammates' fates. He wasn't going to make it out of this alive, and the team had to know the cart was going to be unattended. Tapping his headset, he opened the channel back to the public address system in respawn. “Gonna need people on the cart! Soldier and Pyro are down, we got a Heavy-Medic pair. Repeat, Heavy-Medic pair, just finished deploying uber. I'm the only one on the payload. I'll try an' draw 'em away. Get on the frickin' cart!”

“That's a ten-four, Scout!” Engineer's voice crackled over the earpiece of the headset. Leave it to Engie to be the only one to actually respond over the damn system. He really wished the rest of the team would bother with radios. Would make things so much easier. At least the REDs seemed just as stubborn.

“Copy that, Engie. Goin' in!” Scout closed the channel and checked the ammo in his Shortstop. Not nearly enough. This was going to suck.

Heavy approached the payload cart, Sascha's barrels spinning. A blue blur darted out the other side, tearing off in an arc to loop around back at the pair of REDs.

“There!” Medic cried, hurrying to get out of the line of fire.

Turning to track the runner, Heavy fired, peppering the landscape with bullets just barely missing the juking youth. Scout serpentined his best, jumping each time he would cross the line of fire, making Heavy waste his ammo. He fired wildly in Heavy's direction, mostly to cover himself, but hoping he would manage a lucky shot.

A bullet caught his shirt, making his insides clench up in realization of how close he'd come. Then, he heard the tell-tale click of his gun's emptiness. Holstering the Shortstop, he reached for his bat.

 _Clack, clack, clack, clack._ Sascha had run dry, most of her bite having been used on the Scout's teammates. With a snarl, Heavy surveyed the area.

Medic knew what he was doing. “There are no other BLUs around! Get him!”

Sascha hit the dirt less ceremoniously than the big Russian would have liked, but he did not have time for gentleness. This was a time for violence. Cracking his knuckles, Heavy braced as Scout made his approach, swinging for the fences with the cracked wood of his Sandman.

The mighty paw of the giant Russian caught the bat in mid swing, rearing back with the force, absorbing the shock of the blow. It stung like all get-out, but his fingers closed around the well-worn wood, grabbing on tight. With an easy wrench, he tore the bat from the smaller man's grasp, holding it in his immense hand like a child's toy. Which, technically, it was.

"Tiny baby will fight like man!" Heavy bellowed, grasping the instrument in both hands and bending the thing until it splintered with a sickening crunch.

Scout gulped, putting his fists up. He was right so far. This sucked.

The monstrous man swung, a mighty hook headed right for the smaller man's skull. Scout ducked, wide-eyed and terrified, hearing the sound of Heavy's fist splitting the air. How was someone so big able to punch so fast? Several jabs followed, one catching his shoulder as he dodged, knocking him back until he could secure his feet back to the ground, his arm going numb for a moment. Clenching his teeth, he dove back in, knuckles connecting with the giant's belly, fat absorbing most of the blow, but still knocking out some of his wind. He ducked another swing, following quickly with an uppercut that rattled his knuckles just as much as Heavy's jaw. The big Russian stumbled back, clutching his mouth, his teeth having slammed together with agonizing force. Dropping his fists back into a boxing stance, he roared, driving forth, hooking at Scout's exposed midsection, hammering punch after punch into the smaller man until his innards felt like a slurry of awful, then caught him across the cheek with a cross, sending him flying to the dirt.

Crumpled in a heap, Scout groaned, slowly pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He felt his insides twist, then rise, and soon the awful burn of acid pushed up his gullet, spilling out of his mouth and nose. He arched up, retching into the dry dirt, tears running down his nose as his whole body convulsed with the effort. He felt his strength leaving him as he looked down at the noisome puddle he'd expelled. Sitting up on his knees, he tugged his shirt over his head, his hat and headset tumbling to the ground in the process. He no longer cared. He balled the blue cotton up and scrubbed his face with it, taking time to blow his nose into it before tossing it aside. He looked over to Heavy, who grinned with pride at what he'd wrought. Scout snarled, his dog tags jingling as they bounced against his bare chest.

"Brutal," Medic whispered, watching the combat. When Scout charged back at Heavy, fists flying, he marveled at the dance in which the two men engaged. Punches were thrown, bodies arching, bobbing and weaving to deflect or dodge blows, feet scraping the dusty ground. He watched as Heavy caught Scout's face again with a jab, knocking him dizzy, only for the youth to follow up with a series of hard shots to the solar plexus, making the big man stumble back, gasping for air. It was the BLU's opening.

Scout kicked at Heavy's knee, buckling it, bringing him to the ground, and dove on the man's back. He wrapped his arms around the giant's neck, clasping one bandaged hand over his bicep, his other hand pressing against the back of Heavy's head, choking him.

Heavy gasped, clawing at Scout's arms, but could find no purchase on the sweaty mercenary's slick limbs, pressed so tight against his flesh that there was no way to dig his fingers beneath. He stood, trying to shake him off, but found blackness closing in on his vision, stumbling forward.

The strong hands on Scout's shoulders were a surprise, as was the force with which he was suddenly ripped from Heavy's back and slammed to the ground. Once his eyes focused, he saw Medic grinning down at him. The doctor seized the youth by the legs and tucked his ankles between his arms and his ribs. Stepping over the flailing youth, he turned him on his belly and squatted over his back, compressing his spine.

Scout cried out in agony, his strength gone, his hands flailing, trying to lift himself but only making the burning pressure in his back stronger. He tried to roll, but Medic had him stuck, unable to move. He was left to scrabble at the dirt, clawing, trying to pull himself away as the doctor squatted deeper, pulling screams from the young runner.

Medic grinned at the sound, reaching into his belt pouch to retrieve a rather large, rather vicious syringe. Half-turning to look down at Scout, he lined up his shot and jammed the needle deep into the runner's spine, plunging whatever horrible concoction it contained into the unfortunate mercenary.

Sharp pain, followed by a sudden, terrible floating feeling welcomed Scout, his mind growing fuzzy, his heart slowing. He could feel his life leaving him, shadows closing on the edges of his vision as he pawed with less and less verve at the dust beneath him.

It was mere moments before the young man's struggling stopped, his body going limp, his pulse slowing to a halt. He was dead. Medic dropped his legs and kicked the body once to be sure, satisfied when a blue light disintegrated his possessions, recalling them to respawn. He turned to see Heavy standing beside him, a wild look in his eye.

"Doktor, that was..." he searched for the right words, but wasn't sure he had any. "You are so strong."

"Oh, nein, it was nothing. He was just too stupid to remember I was here, and that he was outmatched. Are you alright, Schatz?"

"I am fine," Heavy replied with a grin, eyeing up the handsome, if now sweaty, doctor. With little effort, he snatched hold of Medic, sweeping him up in his arms. "But I am in need of Doktor still. Come along," he beckoned, carrying him away from the field, the screams of approaching BLUs carrying on the wind.

The payload could wait. The battle could wait. Right now, they were alive, running on adrenaline and homicide, vicious electricity scorching through them, and ducking into one of the barns just off of the tracks, they melted into each other in the desert heat.

 

 

 

"Not seen them for a right long time," Demoman muttered, peering into a battlement. "I cannae believe they up'n disappeared like that."

"Seems out of character for those two," Engineer replied, stepping out of the space between two buildings. "They've gotta be alive, 'r else they'd'a respawned."

"'S'what I'm sayin'!"

The round had ended swiftly, an easy victory propelled by well-laid sticky traps, a level-three sentry, and Pyro's expert ambushes holding the payload at bay, but the lack of Heavy and Medic had left the team working overtime to ensure their success. After the battle, with still no sign of either, a search party had been assembled.

Kicking over a barrel, Demoman growled, a sour look on his pouting lips. A slam echoed nearby, catching his ear. Someone, something was in the nearest barn. "Over 'ere, lad!" he called to Engineer, rounding on the building's door, bottle in hand. Engineer trotted over, taking up position behind him, shotgun at the ready. He nodded to his teammate, who grabbed hold of the handle and threw the door open. He dropped his bottle, and his jaw.

Pressed against the wall of the barn Medic's arms clawed at the rough wood, his cheek and chest pressed flush against it while his back arched away, one of Heavy's big hands gripping his hip tightly as he ground against his lover's firm backside, the other hurriedly stroking the smaller man's erect cock. Stubble-rimmed lips pressed reverently against the rosy-blushed flesh of Medic's shoulders, wandering down his back and up again, the big man's own need cradled between the doctor's cheeks, slick with sweat. Their groans filled the quiet barn, Medic's needful whimpers high and breathy, growing urgent.

Lost in their own world, the two men hadn't noticed their observers, unabashed as they neared their peak. Medic was the first, panting, whispering that he was close.

"Then come, moya golubchik," the big man rumbled, his pace quickening both in hips and hand. He began to leave soft bites along the German's shoulders, pink circles quickly fading in his wake.

Certainly, he needed no permission, but the sound of Heavy's voice, husky with lust, granting it was more than Medic could handle, his jaw clenching, forehead pressing into the wall as he shuddered, his legs quaking. He filled Heavy's hand with his seed, the soft _plip_ of some of it hitting the floor lost in his desperate wail, his high, aching moan that sent birds scattering from the rafters in a panic.

Heavy wasn't far behind, bucking forward, doubling over his beautiful lover as he painted his back and ass with come, his groan choked and breathy, his body shaking. Both hands flew to Medic's torso, pulling him up against Heavy, holding him belly-to-back in his warm embrace before spinning him to face, capturing his lips in a rough, lusty kiss that took away what breath each man had left.

Engineer coughed, his face beet red, his shotgun back in its sling across his back. He averted his eyes, but that damnable crooked grin was still firmly attached to his lips. He shook a little with laughter as he cleared his throat loudly.

The nude mercenaries' heads turned in their direction, eyes snapping wide open. Medic's face was a mask of absolute horror, a stark counterpoint to Heavy's immense exasperation.

Mouthing words, voiceless, Demoman tried and failed to construct an apology, finally settling for simply closing the door. Their retreating footsteps crunched back down the path from whence they'd come.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Catcard, who demanded more HeavyxMedic of me.


End file.
